People Like Us
by Paris-Never-Ended22
Summary: The doctor had stolen her heart. If only he felt the same way about her. Two alternate endings, read A/N for more info. Watson/Simza
1. Simza

**A/N:This is going to be a choose your ending fic, so there are two options, Chapter 4 and Chapter 5. So if you're a cold hard reality type person, I would go with 4, and if you're a hopeful romantic, read 5. And if you're not sure, read both and decide which one you like best. Takes place before Holmes comes back to life. I own nothing. BTW, I'm taking a lot of creative liberty with Tamas's character. I have him as sort of a father figure to Simza, because I don't really know who he is supposed to be.**

**Chapter 1: Simza**

After Holmes's funeral, there really was no reason for me to stay in London. But I did. I lingered for a quite a while, my excuse being to make sure the doctor was all right. Tamas stayed with me for a bit, but I could tell he longed for Paris, just as he could tell I did not mean to go back. The look in his eyes told me that he felt there was more to my desire to stay than my given reasons. I waved his suspicions off, claiming that I liked the city, but he knew the truth. When he announced he was going to return to Paris, he held out something wrapped in paper.

"For you," he murmured, placing it in my hand. When I opened it, the ugly blue and brown scarf that the doctor had worn fell out. The one Tamas had stolen from him.

"To remember him by, when you leave." He didn't have to tell me who he meant. "_Au revoir, _Sim." And he was off.

The gesture was touching, given his dissapproval of the man it had belonged too. I must say, I didn't mind it too much that he was gone. The whole time he'd been with me I'd felt as though he'd been watching my every move. Without him, I felt liberated. I could finally do what I wanted again, without having to sneak around to do it. He was afraid I was going to get hurt, but I could take care of myself. I knew the reason he had been watching me like a hawk. The amount of time I had been spending with Dr. Watson.

_"Where were you?'" Tamas asked casually. I shrugged and took a drink from a bottle of wine. We were staying in a tent with a group of other Gypsies who were passing through the city._

_"No where," I lied, coolly as I could. From the way he looked at me, I knew he didn't believe me._

_"Meeting that doctor friend of yours again, were you?"_

_"Perhaps." I sighed. "What does it matter to you?"_

_Shaking his head, Tamas replied, "I would not get too close too him. People like him and people like us aren't meant to be together."_

_...Perhaps he was right._

After the funeral, the doctor and I spent a good deal of time together. We would meet at cafes or go for walks in the park. He seemed to enjoy my company, and I his. I tried to make him laugh, or smile; he calmed me down when I cried to him about the nightmares I had about Rene. Around any other man I would have never done such a thing, but he was different. And it was then that I began to feel something I'd never felt before.

I had fallen in love with the handsome doctor, despite his first snobbish impression. I could deny it no longer. Somewhere during that crazy race against time, he had stolen my heart, and I, a foolish girl, believed he had felt the same way for me. I told myself that he loved me and that we were meant to be together. It was silly, I know it now, that I ever dreamed of this. It was he who brought me back to reality.

_"So, you'll be going back to Paris soon, I take it?" the doctor asked as he sipped his tea. I shrugged._

_"I am not sure. I like this city. Especially certain parts of it. I may stay." I tried to sound nonchalant, but inside, my heart beat like a drum. This would be the time, I knew it, that I would reveal my feelings for him._

_"Oh, really? And what parts would that be?" I blushed. Was I too obvious? How was it that I, so sure of myself before, found myself so toungue-tied and flustered from just one person? I gathered up the fragments of my self-confidence._

_"There are certain... men," I murmured, stretching out my hand to finger the buttons on his coat. "Men like you." _Clang! _His spoon fell on the metal table. Several other cafe goers turned to look. Much to my dismay, he pulled back and stood up, red-faced. I stood too. I could almost feel his discomort, and I felt bad knowing I had caused it. But why was he uncomfortable about me? Was Tamas right? Was it because I was a Gypsy?_

_"I can't do this, Sim," he said, pushing me away. I was suddenly angry._

_"Why? Are you ashamed of me?" I grabbed his hands. "I love you!" Now his face was pale._

_"I'm not ashamed-" he started, and shook his head. "There is something you should know. About me. Before you do something you regret. Something I'll regret." What did he mean? Something_ he_ would regret?_

_"I'm married, Sim." Married? _Married_? How was it that I had never heard of this? After all the time we'd spent together? I felt the tears prick my eyes, like the blood of my crushed hopes._

_"You're married?" I asked, crushed. I was lucky that I did not dissolve right then._

_"Yes," he said. Was it my imagination, or did he sound sad? Regretful, even? "I am. I'm so sorry Sim, I thought you knew. I had no idea, that you-" He broke off, and I just shook my head, the tears threatening to fall. He continued. "It's just that- well I've been thinking this for a while now- we shouldn't really be meeting together anymore. People might talk, and it's just- it's not that I don't want to see you, but I'm married. I really don't want a scandal. It wouldn't be fair to you, or my wife- I must go." He gathered his things and set some money onto the table. "I'm sorry. I hope you understand."_

_It was the last time we ever spoke._

Well, that had hurt. But what was I thinking? Of course, he had his own home, his wife and friends, a prosperous career, while I was just a Gypsy without a dime to my name. He was a king, and I was a peasant. We could never be together.

But still, I couldn't leave him. I watched him walk down the street each morning, taking the routes that we had once taken together. I saw him and his wife together, a lovely couple to anyone on the outside. She was a prim, proper blonde woman, a perfect wife for him, many would say. But they didn't know what I knew. I knew that on the outside, Mary may have seemed perfect, but the doctor needed someone better. He needed someone who would understand him. He needed me. Eventually, he would realize that, I convinced myself. And I would wait for him for as long as it would take.

So I remained in London, working at some horrid restaraunt. I read tarot cards to frivolous men who gazed at me with demeaning expressions on their faces. I acted the part of the mysterious fortune teller they expected me to be. They had no idea that I was a real woman with a real heart, breaking slowly all the time. They merely flung their coins on my table as I spun them tales of wealth, romance, power- things they wanted to lazily tossed coins were barely enough to live on, but I didn't care, so long as I was close to him. One thing was certain though, I was no longer satisfied with my life as a Gypsy fortune teller. Before Moriarty's game, this had been enough for me. But that was before I had met my beloved doctor. Now, I couldn't return to my old way of life without longing for something more. _Love. _I had experienced it, and I couldn't go back.

And so I wait.

**A/N: Well, that was more difficult to write than I thought. I apologize for Watson's OOC-ness, the charecterization muses were _not_ speaking to me yesterday. Simza was a little easier to fake. And Tamas hardly even talks at all, so I basically just made up a character for him. If anyone knows what sort of relationship he has to Simza, please tell me! And please review! Positive feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome!**


	2. Watson

**A/N: Forgot the disclaimer. Okay, so I own nothing, although if I did Irene Adler would not be dead, although Mary might be and I probably would be too cause I'd have died of happiness. No, maybe Mary would get amnesia and disappear to Switzerland where she would fall in love with Mycroft. That works. Anyways, moving on. And apologizing in advance for any OOC-ness.**

**Chapter 2: Watson **

I glanced at what I had written on my typewriter. I hadn't made much progress despite the fact that I'd been up all night, working. I read over my words, mumbling them to myself. _Rubbish, _I thought_. _Whatever made me think that I could write, I didn't know. I had lately been trying to recount the story of our game of shadows, but I was failing miserably at it. I'd been spending hours in my study, sleeping at my desk, hardly coming down for meals unless Mary forced me to. I was certain she thought me to be quite insane by now, and she was probably right.

"John?" a voice called, sounding far away. I looked up. Mary was standing at the door to my study, her nose wrinkled at its disarray.

"What is it?" I asked, sighing. She looked at me, a rather concerned expression on her face.

"The Finnegans are here for tea, dear," she said. "Aren't you coming down?"

"The Finnegans?" I asked peevishly, and she nodded. "You couldn't have bothered to tell me?"

Mary looked hurt. "I did tell you, dear. Yesterday and this morning. I suggest you come and greet them." With this, she turned on her heel and walked briskly down the stairs. She made a point of leaving the door open, which she knew I hated, and I could hear her muttering something that sounded like "never listens anymore."

She was right, and I knew it. I never did listen to her anymore, not these days. Everything she said and did suddenly seemed so unimportant. I hated myself for feeling this way, but I couldn't help it. It wasn't her fault, it was mine. I had been the one to change. I would hear her complaining to Mrs. Hudson, saying that I was getting to be just as crazy as Holmes had been. Locking myself in my study, never sleeping, not even talking to her anymore; she was so worried. This was the reason that she had invited the Finnegans over, I was sure of it. To try to bring me back to reality, not for company's sake. She didn't like them any more than I did; I knew this for a fact.

I rubbed my exhausted, stinging eyes with one hand, and forced myself to just get up and greet my guests. The Finnegans really _weren't_ too bad… yet, for reasons I knew but didn't want to admit, I shamefully envied them. Their perfect marriage, their perfect life, perfect family, yes, everything was just so fine and merry for that couple. It bothered me that I could never have what they did.

I wasn't just talking about Holmes anymore. The great emptiness I felt inside, the constant twang of pain in the depths of my heart that plagued my every thought, my every action, had to do with the absence of _two_ souls. One was the dear friend whose life was taken during that fateful fall from the cliff in Switzerland, but the other was someone else entirely.

_As I walked into the park, I saw her standing by the bench we always met at. Her pretty face lit up as she caught sight of me, and she immediately hurried over, crouching on the ground to pet Gladstone. Other women strolling properly down the path rolled their eyes, but she paid them no mind. When she straightened up I bowed deeply, as though greeting the Queen._

_"Bonjour, madam," I said respectfully. She laughed and curtseyed. I felt a ghost a smile cross my lips._

_"It's nice to see you, Simza."_

Yes, Simza. The countless hours we'd spent together sipping tea and lazily walking through parks hadn't been forgotten – they never would be. Now that she was gone, there wasn't a day that I didn't miss her consoling presence. She was the reason I hadn't gone completely mad after Holmes' untimely death, she was the reason I'd still try to smile every day. The person who's saved me from such depression was her, not Mary. I liked to pretend my wife had something do with this, but I knew I was kidding myself.

Sim was also the reason why I couldn't get this story straight. Whenever I tried to write about her, I found myself imagining the way the light lit up her dark curls, how impossibly soft her skin was to the touch. I knew her through and through, could conjure up her image in my sleep. It shouldn't have been a problem. But it was. How could I write about a woman this way, when I was married to someone else? And yet, I also couldn't write about her as if I didn't care at all, for that just seemed cruel. I had to find a balance, had to-

"John!" Mary's voice called, and I groaned. I couldn't make it through a tea with the Finnegans, not today. I needed to clear my head. I whistled for Gladstone, took my cane, and went down the stairs. I began putting on my coat and heard Mary asking me where I thought I was going.

"I'm sorry. I got a call. An emergency," I lied. "I must go."

"I didn't hear anyone."

"That's because you were busy with the Finnegans," I answered sharply. I put Gladstone on a leash.

"Why on earth are you taking Gladstone?"

"He needs a walk. Two birds with one stone." Impatiently, I opened the door.

"But where will you put-"

"Good-bye, Mary!" As I closed the door I heard Mary apologizing to the Finnegans. I groaned once more and turned down the street. Gladstone waddled along after me, happy for the exercise. He really did need it, poor thing, I hadn't taken him out since the last time I had been walking with Sim.

_She had grabbed my hand, unexpectedly, and when I looked at her she blushed and let go. I wanted to tell her that I didn't mind, it was nice, actually, but I didn't. To say that wouldn't have seemed right. I turned away instead, distancing myself slightly. She frowned._

_"I'm sorry, I don't know-"_

_"It's fine," I replied quickly. Lately, I had noticed that she seemed different around me, almost as if she was holding something back. She seemed hesitant, and yet, at the same time, more daring. Like the hand-holding. It was as if she had something to tell me. I wondered if she missed Paris._

_"You can go back," I told her, although it hurt. "Honestly, it's alright." She nodded, and I could see a glimmer of tears in her eyes._

_"Maybe," was all she said._

I had driven her away, I knew. She had loved me, and I'd deceived her. And now, I realized that I had loved her to. At first it was as if she were my sister, but afterwards, it was so much deeper than that. I longed to be in her company all day. That was why I didn't talk to her, for a while. I couldn't deal with my feelings. It was why I'd finally told her the truth, and broken her heart. And now she was gone. I'd gone to the Gypsy tents one day, to try and find her, but the man there shook his head.

"They left," he had told me, not giving any more detail than that. I assumed, naturally, that he meant for France, although occasionally I'd walk down the street and feel as though I saw her there too, watching me. Obviously, it was my imagination.

I sank down onto the street. God, how was it that this one woman could make me feel so many different emotions? The bustling London street goers moved around me, as I broke down into tears.

_Simza, where are you?_, was my only thought.


End file.
